the lunar cycle
by catlapmilk
Summary: itachi/sasuke. his love had been strangely cyclical; comparable to the process of lunation, slivers of silver light in a darkened sky.


**summary:** itachi/sasuke. his love had been strangely cyclical; comparable to the process of lunation, slivers of silver light in a darkened sky.

**a/n:** hggggrhrg this has been sitting on a flashdrive probably forever, and i remember really loving it and wanting to write it and yeah. i actually don't know anything about the moon and its cycles. please forgive me.

* * *

His love had been strangely cyclical; comparable to the process of lunation, slivers of silver light in a darkened sky.

He had been prodigious, to say the least, gifted where his clansmen had ached to be gifted; his mind, sharp enough to bleed on, coupled with formidable tactics, formidable stealth, his unending loyalty. His ability to detach himself had been praised endlessly. He had been a textbook shinobi; exemplary, a perfect example. _Learn from Itachi. Do as Itachi does. He is exactly what it is you strive to be._ Yet, with his commendable functionality – off, on; a switch to give yourself over to duty, to quiet your conscience – no one had ever cared to know that what he was truly good at was love; would never know if he could help it.

It began as a dark moon, invisible, camouflaged by the backdrop of the night. It had crept up on him, further obscured by the starless night, looming over his head; billions of pounds, countless ounces. It was dark enough to be hidden in the recesses of his mind, the darkness of his heart, the blackness of an Uchiha's eyes… the latter being where he first found it, where he'd first come to know.

Sasuke's eyes had been endless shadows, pools of ink threatening to spill over and stain the porcelain of his face. It is a very real fear that Itachi not be the one to upend a dark ocean; tilt him too far to one side, spin him a little too quickly. He looks at the boy and feels something akin to drowning, all breathlessness and searing lungs.

"Nii-san?"

He breaks free of the smothering waves, surfaces for air. Trapped in the metaphor of sinking in the sea, he begins to feel the pull of an indiscernible moon, a tide threatening to become much less gentle. Staring down at his little brother, heart kick-starting, it was here that the cycle began.

* * *

A shard of an idea, a fragment of something yet to be conceived, it began to worm its way into a heart so easily powered off. That said, it began to grow both harder and easier to move between feelings and no feelings, no more pulling levers or pushing buttons; _that doesn't make sense,_ as two opposites took him in their own directions, pulling him apart like thick ropes and cruel horsemen. He hated the formation of feeling; a newborn moon – a slice, a crescent; while hardly complete still heavy and certain in its own right – yet relished it at the same time.

Conspirators, like pathogens, snuck their way into his system, goading him to that place of absolute numbness; a mindless killing machine. _They are our enemies, Itachi. They pose a threat to your clan, your family, your brother._ He is persuaded on a cellular level; his desire to protect Sasuke swims through his blood. There is no vaccine, no defense, for love.

He can do it all for Sasuke. He can learn anything, be anyone, kill whomever he needs to. He can hide the growing pressure in his heart, a genuine threat to burst and destroy him, when he presses his fingertips against the soft skin of his brother's forehead. He looks into pleading eyes, dark and bottomless, where hidden moons hide; the beginning of the lunar cycle.

"I'm sorry, Sasuke," he tells him, swallowing down love and pain and desperation all at once; it drops like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach. Sasuke just turns his face away sharply, a pale and pointed sliver.

* * *

He swipes his fingers, of late, with alarming frequency, against the fair skin just above his brother's eyes and apologizes. _You said you would teach me to throw shurikens today._ Sasuke glares up at him, hurt from being dismissed yet another time. "Sure," he says, and Itachi's heart feels much too big in his chest, and not in a good way.

"Otouto," he calls softly, thinks of words he should say and not ones he wants to. Sasuke's own youth betrays him; he cannot keep his little scowl from softening, black eyes going wide and shifting over to his older brother. He loves Itachi, after all. Itachi knows this in the way Sasuke's heart is so easy to bruise in his hands.

The boy turns slightly to him, because he still has not answered, not realizing that Itachi has no answer for him. From here he becomes another moon, more of him the pale and watchful face than he is the creeping shadows. However, the part that dips into the shallows of the dark threatens him, and Itachi reaches out and hates that Sasuke flinches away from him, most likely expecting another blow to the forehead.

His fingers tremble as they cradle the boy's jaw. "Please," he whispers. "Forgive me."

Itachi will never be quite sure if Sasuke does.


End file.
